


starry eyed

by honeycombkiss



Series: waited just to love you [14]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged Up Characters (18 years old), Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, although nobody moves away or forgets because thats bullshit, anxiety attack, its 1994, lots of fluff and cute moments, post It (2017), senior prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-12-15 23:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21026882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeycombkiss/pseuds/honeycombkiss
Summary: Richie always had a vision of what senior prom would be like—tuxedos, booze, dancing, Eddie—but the road to prom didn’t prove to be that easy./Or: It’s senior prom! Follow the Losers’ club through promposals, prom planning, prom night and the after party. Featuring rose pedal lockers, mixtapes, pining and a surprise prom king and queen.





	1. please be mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Likesummerrainn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likesummerrainn/gifts).

> This story was born of a headcanon from @likesummerrainn on tumblr, originally told to @nohomohank on tumblr. The headcanon read: Mike and Beverly are somehow crowned prom king and queen but the entire losers club takes it to mean that THEY were crowned king and queen so the entire night becomes about the losers club and the rest of the high school remembers why they weren’t friends with any of them in the first place
> 
> So, this is dedicated to @likesummerrainn and @nohomohank on tumblr; for this brilliant idea and the permission to turn it into a full-blown story. This was seriously a blast to write; it practically wrote itself.

“Rumor has it that Mike’s gonna be crowned Prom King,” Stanley forwent a formal greeting as he slid into his seat at their lunch table, gingerly placing his backpack down and reaching up to comb his curls away from his face. Richie watched him take a deep breath, all the while chanting something quietly; Stanley’s hair was a big cause of anxiety for him. Richie reached over Eddie to pat supportively at Stan’s shoulder. Stan shoved him off, though he did smile.

“If it isn’t Derry High’s biggest gossip,” Richie baited, licking the Cheeto dust off his fingers.

“It’s not gossip!” Stanley defended.

“If it’s not true than it’s gossip,” Eddie piped in, and Richie just knew it was to defend Richie’s honor.

“Yeah; a rumor, a gossip, toe-mato, tomahto,” Richie shrugged, stressing the differences in the word.

“He’d be a great prom king,” Ben cut in before Stan could argue with Richie any longer.

“B-b-ben’s right,” Bill agreed. “M-m-mikey’s the b-best choice.”

“And he’s the star of the football team, which seems to mean a lot to Derry High,” Stan resumed, beginning to unpack his lunch.

“It makes sense,” Ben nodded. “Mike is really good, and he brought the team to the semi-finals this year.”

“Yeah,” Stanley continued to unpack his lunch bag, laying out his napkins. “And half the student body has a crush on him.”

“H-he’s cute,” Bill hummed his agreement.

“I’m sorry, is this some sort of ladies lunch? I’m not sure how to respond,” Richie turned to Eddie. “Anything to add?”

“Yeah, who’s rumored to be prom queen?” Eddie asked Stan, which was not what Richie had expected.

“Kylee Tucker,” Stan answered around a bite of his wheat-bread ham and cheese sandwich.

“No way!” Eddie exclaimed, shaking his head. Richie nodded his head emphatically. “She’s a fucking racist! She doesn’t deserve to be Mike’s queen!”

“Well what can we do about it?” Ben asked, looking at each of the Losers in turn. Richie was sure they could come up with something, though he wasn’t sure exactly _what_. Bill, however, looked like he was already plotting something.

“Uh-oh, Big Bill, that’s your thinking face,” Richie elbowed Bill, who only scooted away from Richie.

“I’ve g-g-g-got an idea,” Bill addressed the Losers as a whole. “But n-n-no details yet.”

“Please share,” Stan prompted, looking eager.

“Yeah, spit it out,” Richie agreed.

“We have t-t-o somehow get B-b-bev crowned as queen,” Bill said, which made it a plan.

“So we just get everybody to vote for her, that’s not hard,” Ben smiled.

“_That’s not hard_,” Richie mocked in a playful voice. “Um, how do you suggest we do that, Mr. Politician?”

“Shhhh,” Stan’s voice was obnoxiously loud suddenly. “Mike’s right there. We can’t discuss this in front of him!”

“Oh for gods sake,” Richie rolled his eyes.

“You have to keep this is a secret, Trashmouth!” Stan pointed an accusatory finger at Richie. “From both Mike and Beverly.”

“Richie’s a great secret keeper,” Eddie assured them all. “How else do you think we’re in a relationship and still alive in this horrible ass town?”

“Touché,” Richie nodded his head at Eddie, who just smiled at him.

“Hey, Mike,” Ben greeted their friend as he approached the table.

“Hey, guys,” Mike smiled, sliding into his seat. He shrugged his backpack off, before taking a bite of the sloppy joe on his lunch tray.

Richie wasn’t sure how they planned to get everyone to vote for Beverly, but it certainly made sense. Beverly was kind and beautiful and was basically already royalty in the eyes of the Losers. She was brave and hilarious and was currently joining their table.

“What’s up, Losers?” Beverly had a lunch tray of her own, sliding into her seat between Ben and Mike. “There’s a lot of talk about prom this morning.”

“So I’ve heard,” Richie smiled over at Bev. “Have you, like, got your dress picked out yet, Bevy?” One of Richie’s tried, and true voices was his Valley Girl. It proved to still be a crowd favorite.

“Fuck no,” Beverly shook her head, red curls bouncing against her shoulders. “You got yours, Richie?”

“Well not quite, sugar,” Richie switched to his Southern Belle voice, watching Eddie from the corner of his eye. And just as Richie assumed, Eddie broke into a grin that he tried to hide behind his hand. “I’m still waitin’ on the perfect gentleman to ask me.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’ll be too hard,” Ben insinuated with a wink towards Eddie. Oddly, Eddie stiffened beside Richie and didn’t say a word.

“I w-w-was think-ing we sh-should thr-row our own p-p-party,” Bill mentioned, glancing around the table to no doubt gauge reactions. Richie played up a look of surprise, hands against his cheeks and all. Which he swiftly followed with a fist pump. Bill smiled fondly. “Ruh-richie’s in.”

“I love a good party, Big Bill, especially one thrown by you,” Bill loved orchestrating big parties. The Denbrough home had been a hot spot for many parties over the years. (Bill’s parents travelled for Mr. Denbrough’s job frequently. And as long as the police weren’t called, and the Losers cleaned up the following morning, Bill’s parents were never the wiser. And with Bill on the baseball team, he’d garnered a bit of leverage for the rag-tag group of so-called losers. Which wasn’t even to mention the level of popularity being the star football player brought.)

“That sounds like a great idea,” Mike agreed, just as Richie knew he would. Mike was always up for a good time. “Hey, we can even have it at the farm! Maybe up in the old barn, so there’s enough room.” The Hanlon farm had just gone through a renovation, which meant the old barn had been turned into a gathering place. The Losers spent a lot of time out there, getting high and drunk and running away from god-awful Derry.

“That’d be p-p-perfect,” Bill grinned. “We can invite the who-whole sc-school.”

“Wow that’s ambitious,” Eddie cringed.

“It sounds claustrophobic,” Stan contended.

“Come _on_,” Beverly cut in. “Don’t be a party pooper.”

“We can all stick together,” Ben smiled over at Eddie and Stan. “Who knows, it’ll probably be a lot of fun.”

“Yeah, it’s senior prom.” Beverly added. “We have to celebrate!”

“I bet my uncle will buy us some beer,” Mike said, smile wide. “What about food?”

“I can see about food,” Richie offered. “My dad won’t mind if I borrow his credit card.”

“Uh, yeah he will,” Eddie glanced over at Richie in bewilderment. “Don’t you remember last time?”

“Yeah, but if I explain the seriousness of the situation he’ll probably come around.” Richie shrugged, attempting to convince Eddie and the others.

“Okay, sure, I can’t wait to see that,” Eddie hummed, rolling his eyes at Richie.

“What about music?”

The rest of lunch comprised of planning and assignment giving. By the end, Richie could tell that Mike and Bill were satisfied with the results. That pair were determined and when that energy was brought together, Richie was sure they could win a war. Or at least throw an amazing, unforgettable party.

X

Soft music played from Richie’s radio, just like most nights, as he lay in bed. The talk of prom was fresh on his mind, making it nearly impossible to fall asleep. His mind was a whirlwind as he dreamed bigger and bigger ideas of how he could ask Eddie to prom. He found himself dismissing each idea, knowing that he hadn’t found the _perfect_ one yet. It had to be grand and romantic. Eddie deserved only the best. The grander the scene Richie put on, the brighter Eddie would blush and the harder he’d try to force away his broadening smile. Eddie could act like he didn’t love Richie’s grand displays, but Richie knew otherwise.

(It was like when Richie brought balloons and a cake to school for Eddie’s eighteenth birthday. Eddie had acted put out and embarrassed. And although his cheeks were bright red, he couldn’t hide the smile that had lit up his entire face. Which was the biggest success in Richie’s book.)

Also, he couldn’t let Ben win most romantic. No matter if it were true or not, he couldn’t let Ben show him up.

So far, Richie’s ideas involved possibly getting Ben to write him a poem. Or maybe he could get a box of condoms and write something like ‘Won’t you cum with me at prom?’

His parents grandfather clock chimed from the living room, which was precisely when the perfect idea came to mind. Eagerly, Richie jumped from his bed, shoving his glasses onto his face and rushing over to his desk. (Well, really Eddie’s desk as he spent the most time at it.) Eddie had a little notebook sitting on the surface, along with his pack of gel pens that were scattered across the surface. Richie grabbed at the first one he could reach and began scribbling notes onto a blank page.

He would make a mixtape, and the first letter of every song would spell out ‘Prom, Eds’._ E_ would definitely be ‘_Eddie My Love’ _which was one of the sweetest and saddest songs probably _ever _written, but it had Eddie’s name in it. It had become their song way back in Freshman year, and so it would be a fucking _crime_ to leave it off of this perfect playlist. And maybe _P_ could be _Patience_ by Guns N’ Roses. With Queens’ ‘_One Year of Love’_ for _O._

The playlist would no doubt give Eddie musical whiplash, but picking the right song was much more important than sticking to a genre. Listening to and recommending music was Richie’s world—literally, as he worked part time at a record store in downtown. He trusted his own taste and ability to blend songs.

His mind continued to wander, deciding that he’d have to add in ‘_Romeo’s Tune’_ because it was one of Eddie’s favorites.

Richie’s hand moved quickly, glittery purple pen marks filling the page, writing down multiple ideas for the letter _D_, while struggling to come up with anything for _M._

He let his exhaustion win, finally, when he brought the notebook and pen into bed with him. He jotted down a couple more ideas before sleep pulled him under.

X

The Saturday afternoon sunshine poured through Richie’s open blinds, lighting up his bedroom. The beads that hung over his closet doorway projected colors and sparkle across the opposite wall and ceiling, creating a bright and warm glow. Richie laid on his stomach on his bed, his radio in his grasp. He watched the tape reel spin as it recorded the next song onto Eddie’s prom invitation mixtape. He’d started that morning and was already onto letter M—_More Than Words_ by Extreme. He hummed along to the tune in his head, drumming his hands against the small stereo.

He could just imagine the face Eddie would make when he was gifted the mixtape. Eddie loved music and surprisingly loved listening to new music. It was one of their favorite shared past times; going for drives clear out past Derry city limits and jamming to weird stations on the radio. Or—more likely—Richie showing Eddie a new band he’d discovered. Because Richie had _good_ music taste and it was basically part of his job as a great boyfriend to introduce Eddie to the best rock and roll had to offer.

In the distance, he could hear a knock on the front door. Richie’s bedroom was directly at the top of the staircase, which meant that visitors always disturbed him. He rolled his eyes, rolling onto his back and imaging which of his mothers’ friends were stopping over to play tennis in the backyard or sit and wine taste in the kitchen.

The knocking continued, though, several minutes later.

“MOM!” Richie screamed at the top of his lungs, hoping he wouldn’t have to get up. He was still in his favorite plaid pajama pants and yesterdays rumpled t-shirt. “Maggieeeee!”

Several beats of silence later, and still no sign of his mom or dad.

“Went!” Richie tried again, cupping his hands around his mouth so as to echo the sound better. “Somebody?! Anybody?!”

“Jesus Christ,” Richie heard his mothers voice as she passed by his closed door. “You have legs, too, Richard.”

“They’re broken, Mags!” Richie called after her.

“How very mature of you!” Maggie’s reply came back sounding distant.

Richie couldn’t help but snicker to himself, imaging the look that was no doubt crossing her features. It was one of his favorites to imitate. It always got laughter from his friends, and a fond eye roll from his father.

His stereo finished recording ‘_More Than Words’_, and so Richie glanced back down to fiddle around and begin recording ‘_Eddie My _Love’ for _E._ Which was when his bedroom door flung open, and his adorable boyfriend came barreling in, slamming the door shut behind him.

“I was beginning to think no one was home,” Eddie looked frazzled and upset. He threw his backpack down—his personal backpack (which was smaller and brighter), not his school backpack.

“Everything okay?” Richie asked, feeling only somewhat concerned. Eddie was usually pretty dramatic, so his antics weren’t overly concerning.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Eddie huffed as he paced the length of Richie’s bed. “But Ben said you two were talking and that you were both brainstorming great promposal—wait, is that even a fucking word?” Eddie looked at Richie for confirmation, though Richie just shrugged.

“Fuck if I know,”

“Well, whatever,” Eddie threw his hands to the side, fingers outstretched. “Ben said you guys were like brainstorming and he asked if I was going to be promposing,” Eddie stopped again. “God that is seriously the dumbest word.”

“You sure have a lot of feelings about a word,” Richie laughed, glancing down to start the tape recording again.

“Anyway,” Eddie shook his head, and resumed his pacing. “I realized that I hadn’t told you yet that I’m not going to prom, so there’s no need for either of us to ask each other.”

The words came tumbling from Eddie’s mouth at high speed, meaning it took several moments for Richie to realize what had just been said.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Richie sat up, searching Eddie’s face. “What the fuck do you mean you’re not going to prom?”

“I’m not going to prom!” Eddie exclaimed, his voice holding a note of finality. Which made things challenging for Richie, but not impossible. If there was a reason Eddie didn’t want to go, all Richie had to do was get to the bottom of it and solve it. Which couldn’t be impossible.

Richie curled his pointer finger towards himself to motion for Eddie to come closer. Eddie didn’t question it, just walked towards Richie’s bed and sat in front of him. Richie was momentarily distracted by Eddie’s lips, before he remembered his mission.

“Eddie, baby, it’s senior prom!” Richie started. “We can’t miss that!”

“I can and I will,” Eddie crossed his arms against his chest, which was never a good sign.

“And why’s that?” Richie prompted, attempting to play it cool. He leaned over and pressed his thumb at the tip of Eddie’s lips, trying to push up a smile.

“Richie, fucking stop!” Eddie pulled away, but Richie knew he loved the attention.

“Come on, baby, we gotta go to prom! You heard, our Mikey’s gonna be crowned prom king!”

“Then you should go,” Eddie sighed, and Richie could see the fight dissipate from his shoulders. Something deeper was obviously wrong. Eddie never gave in so easily. Usually, Eddie loved to boss Richie around, tell him where _they_ were or were not going. Richie loved it too, knowing that Eddie cared that much. Richie may never say it out loud, but he liked Eddie fussing over him.

Richie opened his arms for Eddie. Eddie came quickly, lowering his head onto Richie’s shoulder. Richie wrapped his arms tightly around his boyfriend and held him to his body. “Come on, baby, you gonna open up for me?”

“That’s what he said,” Richie could barely make out Eddie’s answer, as his lips were muffled against Richie’s shoulder. But as he made the connection, Richie burst into laughter.

“Way to go, babe!” Richie cheered, smacking a hand against the top of Eddie’s ass. Which was totally meant to be a high-five, but Eddie’s hands were currently inaccessible. “I’m the proudest mother right now, dear god,”

“It’s just,” Eddie started, squirming around until he pulled away enough from Richie so as to make eye contact. “I want to wear a pastel suit and I want to dance with you, and I can’t do either of those things, so I don’t want to go.” Eddie stressed the last five words, looking angrier as he did so.

“We graduate in like five weeks, Eds, what’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“Um, where do you want me to start? Five weeks is plenty of time for the world to end!”

“Isn’t that a bit dramatic, Eds?”

“Is it? Because what if my mom finds out? Or what about the entire homophobic student body of Derry High? What happens when they decide to beat the shit out of us?!” Eddie’s voice was frantic, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Because I don’t want to fucking die weeks before we’re finally fucking free!” Eddie was breathing in gasps, and he roughly placed a hand at his mouth. He was having an anxiety attack, Richie realized belatedly.

“Shh, Eds, it’s okay, just breathe with me,” he murmured, rubbing a hand up and down the small of Eddie’s back. “Come on, breathe,”

“I can’t fucking breathe,” Eddie chocked out.

“Come on, baby,” Richie wanted to roll his eyes at Eddie’s petulance. (After realizing that his asthma was anxiety, Eddie had attempted to teach himself how to cope with it. Heaven knew Mrs. K wouldn’t invest in helping Eddie balance his mental health.) Eddie _knew_ how to attempt to cope through an anxiety attack, but sometimes he was stubborn.

“Breathe in 1, 2, 3, 4,” Richie guided Eddie through the breathing techniques he’d learnt for him. “Breathe out 2, 3, 4,” Richie kept his voice calm, hoping to soothe his shaking boyfriend.

He repeated his counting another couple of times, all the while gently rubbing his back. He could feel when Eddie slumped into his arms, exhausted.

Richie isn’t sure what to say—which is scary to him. Because there was a part of Richie that knew Eddie was right. They were trying to just make it a couple more weeks. Then they’d load up Richie’s car and drive off into the sunset. They couldn’t risk that now. Even if Richie really, really wanted to.

Minutes passed, the sounds of the radio still playing and the whirling of the tape the only sounds in the otherwise quiet bedroom. Eddie’s breathing was even and calm, his chest gently rising and falling against Richie’s own. Richie was sure Eddie had fallen asleep. He was surprised when he heard Eddie speak up again.

“If I can’t go as your date, Richie, then I don’t want to go at all. And seeing how I cannot go as your date, well, then I’m not going.” Eddie continued to repeat himself; his resolve was sound. He was using his ‘no-funny-business’ tone of voice.

“Alright, Spaghetti Man,” Richie cooed, pressing a gentle kiss to his boyfriend’s head and snuggled him closer into his arms. Once Eddie had made up his mind, there was no turning around. Eddie was always sure of what he wanted, and Richie admired that about him. Whether it was college, life after high school, their relationship or what he wanted to eat for dinner that night. It was just that this was far from what Richie had expected.

He held Eddie close, and did his best to dismiss the images that swirled through his mind.

X

Richie sat beside Beverly; their backs leaned against the brick wall of Derry High’s exterior. School wa out in half an hour, and the two had left English early. After the teacher had stepped out to run to the restroom—and Richie had made a crude joke to his disappearing form—the pair had slipped out the door as well. Richie was sick of sitting in class and pretending to give a fuck.

Beverly had a cigarette in her grasp, her other hand flicking the top on and off of her lighter. The bright April afternoon sunshine danced across her auburn hair, and Richie sighed.

“You want one?” Beverly offered Richie her pack of Emperor cigarettes.

“Nah,” Richie shook his head, his curls flapping around his face. “I don’t feel like upsetting Eddie today.”

“So he really doesn’t want to go to prom?” Beverly asked kindly. They both stared out in front of them, watching the breeze sway the trees around their school grounds.

“Nope,” Richie popped the ‘p’ loudly. “He thinks it’s dangerous to go together.”

“What do you think?” Beverly prompted.

“What are you, a shrink?” Richie asked, though his voice wasn’t accusatory. Mostly he wanted to put off answering her question.

“Come on, Richie,” Beverly huffed.

“I guess I just had this vision of what it’d be like to go together,” Richie sighed, glancing over at Beverly. She was taking a drag, though he could tell she was listening to him. “Which was stupid, I know.”

“I don’t think so,” Bev breathed out a puff of air. “You’re a lover, Richie,” she quoted back to him what he was always saying. And he knew it was true, but it didn’t really solve the situation.

He grabbed at her wrist and brought her dwindling cigarette up to his lips. She allowed him to take a short drag, and he held the smoke in his lungs for a moment too long. He heaved over, spluttering and coughing. Bev laughed.

“Nice one,” she snickered.

“Well shucks, thanks ma’am,” Richie tipped an imaginary cowboy hat towards her.

“Good ole, Richie,” she teased. “Always got a dumb joke to lighten the mood.”

“Well most of the time,” Richie huffed. “when jokes, movie quotes and sexual innuendos don’t fix a situation, I’m a little lost.”

“Hey,” Beverly nudged him lightly. “Don’t say that!”

“It’s true!”

“Not even,” Beverly disagreed. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. Sure, sometimes you’re kind of an asshole who doesn’t take anything serious, but-”

“It’s part of my charm,” Richie cut in, giving her a silly smile. She just shook her head.

“Yeah, okay, sure,” she dropped her cigarette, pressing onto it with the heel of her faded maroon doc martens. “Whatever you say.”

“Go on,” he prompted her, feeling slightly bad for cutting her off. She chuckled fondly.

“I was just saying that I don’t think the only thing to you is your jokes.” She answered, pulling out another cigarette. “You’re not this insensitive asshole. You just have a very loud personality and a crude sense of humor.”

“That’s what Eds says,” Richie contended.

“See?” Bev’s voice held an ‘_I told you so_’ between the lines.

“It’s whatever,” Richie shrugged. “Eddie made it loud and clear that he wasn’t going to prom, so now I’ve got to decide what I’m doing. He says he doesn’t care if I go, but that kind of feels like a dick move.”

“It’s senior prom,” Beverly said, and Richie wasn’t sure what that meant or whose side she was on. “I think you should come if you want to.”

“Maybe,” Richie shrugged.

“I don’t like this sad and solemn Richie,” Beverly clucked, offering him another drag of her cigarette.

“Well, like it or not here I am,”

Beverly didn’t say anything else, instead held her hand still when Richie accepted a puff of her smoke. (He knew Eddie would still smell the smoke on him, but he could truthfully tell his boyfriend that he _hadn’t_ smoked a cigarette. Sharing Beverly’s was a different story.)

The two sat in silence, filled with Richie doodling on Beverly’s arm and Bev sharing a couple more drags with him.

“Also, I’m not sad,” Richie finally spoke, and he knew time had passed because the parking lot was beginning to fill with students. The school day was almost finished, and Richie was grateful to get his boyfriend in his car and get home. Richie didn’t have work that afternoon, which meant he had only time to spend with Eddie. “I’m just disappointed is all, Red,”

“That’s okay, too,” Beverly assured him, and when the bell rang to officially end the day the pair stood up. Beverly brushed off her denim skirt and gestured to her bike. “I gotta go, I’ve got twenty minutes to make it on time for my shift at Unique Boutique.” Beverly worked at a local thrift store, and she was perfect at the job. Richie was positive she had a future in fashion.

“Have fun, Jessica Rabbit,” Richie called after her, and she only stuck her tongue out in return.

Richie slowly strode to the other side of the parking lot where his car sat waiting. He hoped Eddie wouldn’t be too long. He leaned against the hood of his car, closing his eyes. He’d had a Guns N’ Roses song stuck in his head all day, and he finally gave into the endless looping of the song. As it started again in his mind, he began air drumming along.

He got through the chorus, before getting distracted and glancing around the parking lot again.

“Eds!” Richie called after him once he was finally in sight. “Hurry! I’m starving!”

“Lunch was only two hours ago!” Eddie called back, though he did seem to pick up his pace.

“I’m a growing boy!”

“You can’t possibly grow any taller, Richie,” Eddie argued as he approached. “You’ll break the atmosphere if you do.”

“Okay, I’m no scientist but that doesn’t really sound possible.”

Finally, Eddie was close enough to touch. Richie smiled down at him, suddenly craving to just _hug_ Eddie. But all of his thoughts were about how dangerous it would be, and how little time they had left to really sell the friendship bullshit. Richie had never thought it would be harder the closer they got to the proverbial finish line. And yet, nothing had been more difficult in his life. They’d done it for so long and Richie was _so_ tired of it.

“Rich?” There was concern in Eddie’s voice, and Richie knew the moment had stretched on longer than was socially acceptable for two dudes. He shoved his hands in his pockets, patting the toe of his shoe against the pavement.

“McDonalds or Taco Bell?”

“Is that even a question? McDonalds,” Eddie shook his head, though his eyes were searching. “Are you okay?” And Richie had no idea how to answer that question in a way that wouldn’t be accusatory or unkind to Eddie. And he didn’t blame Eddie, and he wasn’t mad at him either. He knew he was blowing up prom night in his mind. Eddie could meet them at the after party, he didn’t need to be at prom. Richie would just have to kiss goodbye the image of Eddie in a cute little tux.

“Oh Lord, my sweet man,” Richie purred in his Southern Belle accent. “Always worrin’ ‘bout me.”

“I’m serious, asshole,” Eddie protested.

“And always so serious. He’s finna put a ring on it.”

Eddie blushed. “Yeah, maybe I am, but you’re always being so goddamn difficult.”

“He’s quite the sweet talker, I’ll have you know.” Richie continued on, batting his eyelashes in what he knew to be positively adorable.

“Shut up,” Eddie groaned, before walking around to the passenger side of the car. “Unlock it, come on, let’s go.”

X

Ben asked Beverly to prom one sunny Wednesday morning. The prom countdown was on, what with only a week and a half until the big day. The prom theme had been announced—a starry night—and couples were pairing off left and right.

Richie stood with the other Losers in their semi-secret (though not very hidden) hiding spot with a perfect view of Beverly’s locker. From his angle, Richie could see the large red paper heart Ben had pasted on the front of her locker. Richie could feel Stan’s elbow in his side, Bill’s chin against his shoulder, and Eddie’s hip brushing against his. The four definitely didn’t fit in this spot anymore. Ben was across the hallway, ready to walk out when Bev approached. It was all so romantic Richie could cry. He thought he just might when Bev got her special moment.

“The anticipation is killing me,” Eddie mumbled after a moment.

“That’s called impatience,” Stan cut in. “This is the longest you’ve kept still in your whole life.”

“That’s so not true!”

“It k-k-kinda is,” Bill agreed, smiling over at Eddie. Richie couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s the longest he’s been quiet,” Richie mumbled lowly, just so he could see the little pout and blush of red on Eddie’s face.

“That’s so not funny,” Eddie huffed, turning his head away from Richie in a pout. Richie couldn’t help but laugh, and lean down close enough to whisper against the shell of Eddie’s ear,

“Fuck, Eds, you’re so cute, cute, cute,”

Eddie didn’t protest, just rolled his eyes and smiled up at Richie.

“I wanna kiss you so bad,” Richie whispered again, suddenly wishing they were huddling somewhere much more secret. And who could blame him? The early April morning still held a bit of the winters leftover chill, and Eddie was in a lilac sweater that made his skin glow.

“Yeah, well, so do I,” Eddie whispered back, leaning back so as to see into Richie’s eyes.

“Well then do I have the thing for you,” Richie loved his salesman voice, and Eddie seemed to be in a great mood that morning, because he played along.

“Oh yeah, how come I can already tell I’m not going to like it?”

“Ha!” Richie gave a fake guffaw, which earned him a sharp jab to the side from Stan, followed by a,

“Shut up, Richie,” Richie just ignored him. There was nothing that could’ve pulled him away from Eddie in that moment.

“Let’s ditch first period and make out in my car,” Richie murmured, his lips touching Eddie’s ear now. He darted his tongue out, licking the shell of Eddie’s ear. Eddie shivered, though he leaned farther in not away. _Score one for Tozier_, Richie hummed to himself in satisfaction.

“So the school will call my mom to report my absence?” Eddie countered. “No thanks.” Richie wanted to laugh to himself, though he kept his cool. He loved when Eddie put up a fight, acting as if he was going to disagree with him. Richie, however, knew his boyfriend well enough now. Eddie had already made up his mind, and Richie knew that half an hour would find them in the back of his car.

“She’s c-c-coming,” Bill announced excitedly, which effectively broke the moment. Richie licked Eddie’s ear once more, before pulling away to watch Beverly walk towards her locker.

It was obvious the moment she knew something was up. Her bright eyes widened, and she looked around suspiciously.

“She knows somethings up!” Stan’s voice held worry, and Richie could only laugh.

“That’s kind of the point, Staniel.”

“Hush,” Stan huffed.

Across the hall, Beverly spun the combination into her locker and slowly pulled it open. Rose pedals fell to the floor around her, shades of red and pink scattering across the floor. She jumped in surprise, her eyes finally catching onto the postcard pasted onto the inside of her locker door. Ben had written a poem especially for the occasion.

Richie would gladly admit to anyone that in that moment his eyes were totally misty. It was true, Richie was a hopeless romantic. And Ben had mad love skills. And Beverly was beaming, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, fingers trailing against the words on the postcard. It was Ben’s moment now.

“Go get her, Tiger!” Richie called after Ben, though he didn’t appear to hear Richie.

They couldn’t hear a word Ben said but based on the look of pure elation on Beverly’s face and the kiss they shared, it was obviously a yes. She had a hand placed on his shoulder, and she leaned over to press their lips together.

“I love true love,” Richie pretended to wipe away a tear, though he wasn’t fooling anyone, and he knew it. And truthfully, he didn’t want to. Eddie smiled happily.

“Well, that’s two down,” Stan smiled softly. “That leaves five.”

“Your math is incredible,” Richie teased. “What would we do without you. Or you, Eddie Spaghetti, thank god you knew her combo,” Richie nudged Eddie, sarcasm in his voice. “Or who knows what we would’ve done!” Richie smacked his hands against his cheeks in mock horror. “We would’ve had to cancel prom!”

“Well you can’t really be locker neighbors with someone for four years without learning their combination,” Eddie shrugged. “It’s also really simple, and I’ve told her it was unsafe, but she’s never really cared.”

“You can’t beat yourself up too hard,” Richie put on a sympathetic face, heaving his shoulders. “You’ve really done the best you could.”

“Shut up,” Eddie laughed, glancing away from Richie and back over to their friends across the hallway. They looked happy.

Which was when the warning bell rang. Stan adjusted his backpack, turning to the others. “See you at lunch,” Stan nodded lamely, before disappearing down the hall and towards his college level math class. (The one he loved to brag about.) Bill bid his own farewell before walking in the opposite direction.

“Come on,” Richie grabbed for Eddie’s hand, squeezing once then twice, before pulling away. “Let’s go before somebody sees us leave.”

Eddie followed eagerly, and the two raced off to Richie’s car parked in the far back parking lot of the school.

They barely made it back in time for second period.

X

With Stan’s car in the shop, the other Losers had offered to drive him around. It had been one of the highlights of Richie’s week; a tie between that and fucking Eddie over the weekend. (Eddie had been so _hot_ and _eager_ and they hadn’t lasted very long. Waking up the following morning with Eddie still curled up in his arms was the cherry on top.)

Stan was already waiting outside when Richie pulled up, which sort of ruined his plan.

“Mr. Uris!” Richie jumped out his car, fishing a sign out of his back pocket that he’d made in calculus earlier that day. He’d drawn Stan’s name in block letters, dotting the _i _in Uris with a heart.

“Oh my god,” Stan’s cheeks blushed a reddish pink, his shoulders stiffening. “You’re not serious?”

“Mr. Uris, your chariot awaits.” Richie opened the passenger door for Stan as he approached.

“Your sign is upside down, by the way,” Stan snickered.

“_Fuck_,” Richie cursed, glancing down only to find the sign actually right side up. “Hey!” Stan sniggered as he slid into the car.

“Gotcha,” he chuckled.

“Oh Mr. Uris’ got jokes, huh?” Richie jogged around the front of the car, slipping into the driver’s side and sliding the keys into the ignition.

“Is somebody jealous?”

“Hm,” Richie tilted his head to the side, placing a finger to his chin. “One sort of alright joke versus a lifetime of incredible jokes? Is there really anything to be jealous about?”

“Keep telling yourself that, Trashmouth,” Stan joked, but his inflection fell flat. He sat still, a look of disgust across his face. Stan just about feared Richie’s car, but if he didn’t have a choice he’d suffer through. He held his backpack in his lap and stayed silent as Richie pulled away from the curb and onto the road.

Richie reached over to poke at Stan’s side, though he was met with only a swat at his hand.

“Why the long face, ole chap?”

“It’s nothing,”

“Oh it’s obviously something, Stanley,” Richie pestered. “Your cute little panties are shoved so far up your vagina.”

“What the fuck, Richie?” Stan rolled his eyes. “What even?”

“Don’t avoid the question!” Richie pointed a finger at him. “Fess up!”

“It’s so fucking stupid,” Stan groaned, wringing his hands in his lap. “I am so upset at myself. So I cannot talk about it.”

“Well now I’m fucking intrigued, man, you’ve got to tell me!”

“I cannot.” Stan shook his head, though the rest of his body remained stock still as always. Richie wanted to reach over and run a hand down his back soothingly.

“Fine, I get it, you need an ice breaker. I’ll admit something first,” Richie thought for a moment, before speaking again. “As soon as I drop you off, I’m heading to Eddie’s to-” before Richie could finish, Stan cut him off.

“Did you hear about Mike?”

“Um,” Richie allowed his confusion to show. “What about Mike?”

“Allison Randolph asked Mike to prom.”

“Oh shit,” Richie cursed. It made sense—Allison was cohead cheerleader and had had a crush on Mike for years. Allison was conventionally attractive—shoulder length brunette hair, olive complexion, big caramel, brown eyes. She was popular and slightly less self-absorbed than most of her friends.

“And he said yes?” Richie asked, beginning to understand Stan’s foul mood. Stan’s crush for Mike certainly hadn’t dwindled over the years. Stan refused to act on it, instead just harboring it year after year.

“Yes.” Stan confirmed, turning to look out the window as the streets of Derry flew by. “He’s really excited.”

“I bet, she’s like super hot.”

“God, Richie, shut _up_.”

Richie shuddered. “Yeah, sorry.”

“I don’t know why I’m even upset.” Stan sounded defeated, as if he’d finally given in to his fate, as if Mike had gotten a marriage proposal.

“Uh, maybe ‘cause you’ve been gagging for Mike’s dick since we were fourteen?”

“Christ, Richie,” Stan groaned. “You don’t have to fucking say it like that!”

“Well it’s true!”

“Whatever,” Stan crossed his arms across his chest. “Mike is going with Allison and they’re going to be an adorable couple and I just have to deal with it.”

“We can reconvene the sad boys club!” Richie exclaimed, the idea suddenly seeming smart. “Y’know, that club we had when me, you and Ben were too chicken shit to make a move?”

“Oh shit, I forgot about that dumb club,” Stan slumped slightly into his seat. “I hate that club. I don’t want it to come back! I was supposed to be over that dumb boy by now.”

“Oh that’s probably impossible. Have you seen Mikey?”

“Yes, Richie! I have.” Stan grumbled. “And what, it’s going to be a one-man club?”

“_Boy_, Stanthony,” Richie corrected. “It’s the sad _boy_ club.”

“You’re ridiculous. Regardless of the dumb fucking name, it can’t be a one-member club. You’re not sad.”

“Yeah, but I’ll be sad and lonely at prom!”

“That’s dumb,” Stanley crossed his arms. “You’ll have Eddie waiting at home for you.”

“True,” Richie contended. “You’re right. If I start feeling sad, I can just think about his perky little ass or _gorgeous_ co-”

“Shut _up_, Richie!”

“I just_ mean_,” Richie prolonged the word, looking directly at Stan as he did so. “that we can go stag together. My mans won’t go and your mans hasn’t realized that your fine ass is pining in the shadows.”

“He’s not my man, Richie, do _not_ say that!”

“Yowza,” Richie joked. “Okay, I get it.”

Stan didn’t say anything more, and Richie wasn’t sure if he should break the silence. Instead, he focused on changing the radio station, fiddling around until he found something interesting. Mike had always been a sensitive subject for Stan, and Richie was never sure how far to push it. He’d made so many jokes about it over the years, but it just didn’t feel right at the moment.

Richie pulled away from the stereo to spin the wheel and turn onto Stan’s street.

“Stanley,” Richie spoke up, breaking the silence. Stan turned away from the window, fixing Richie with his blank features. “I’m serious, we can go stag together and dance together and get high or whatever shit. We can still have fun.”

“Yeah, thanks, Richie,” Stan smiled softly, nodding his head. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime, Stan the Man.” Stan slipped out of the car, waving to Richie as he walked up the stoop.

X

By the end of the week, Bill had asked Nicole Brady to prom. She was the perfect candidate since she played on the softball team, who often practiced with the baseball team. Ben and Eddie had helped him bake cupcakes and decorate them to read ‘_Prom? Y or N?’_ It certainly wasn’t the most romantic idea, but it had been effective.

Lunch was filled with conversations about boutonnieres and tie colors and planning for Mike’s after party. They’d have to spend the Friday before prom decorating the barn and somehow collecting enough alcohol to throw a killer party.

There was also planning conversations about getting Beverly crowned prom queen, though those conversations had to happen when she wasn’t within earshot. Which usually meant that Ben wasn’t present for their planning sessions. But it seemed that everything was finally coming into place.

Richie had even picked out his suit—a simple black three-piece, white button up, and bright purple bowtie. He’d wear a pair of matching purple socks, and he’d dance the night away wishing that Eddie were there the entire time.

X

The Thursday before prom, Richie pulled his car into the driveway, coming home to most of the lights still on within his home. He’d had to close up the record shop that evening, which always led to a later night. He remembered to turn the music down on his stereo—turning the car on the next morning and being blasted with eardrum bursting sound was kind of the worst—before climbing out and running up the front stoop of his house.

Richie flung the front door open, slamming and locking it behind him.

“Hello!” Richie yelled into the house, knowing neither of his parents were asleep.

“Good evening,” Richie heard his mother holler from the den.

“What’s up?” Richie yelled back, peering around the corner and through the rounded doorway.

“Eddie called,” Maggie responded, glancing up from her book. Her reading glasses sat low on her nose, and she was holding a customary wine glass. “I told him you’d call him back when you got home.”

“’kay, thanks,” Richie called over his shoulder, flinging his keys into the ceramic bowl by the front door.

He jogged up the stairs and into his room, prying off his jacket as he went along. He could hear his father puttering around in his bedroom, the door slightly ajar.

“Good night, Richard,” Wentworth called down the hallway, and Richie only nodded his head in return.

Richie had his own phoneline, which had seemed perfect. But Eddie did _not_ have his own phone line. Which kind of sucked ass in Richie’s opinion. (No private phone sex.) He could dial Eddie’s phone number by heart, and within no time there was a click as his boyfriend picked up the line.

“Kaspbrak residence, Eddie speaking,”

“Eds!” Richie yelled into the phone.

“Jesus, Richie, that’s my fucking ear!”

“You rang?” Richie pressed the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, beginning to kick off his chucks.

“Yeah, wanna come over?” Richie stopped his actions, shoving his shoe back on.

“Fuck yeah,” Richie used his husky voice. “Give me like ten minutes.”

“Ride your bike, and throw it by the side of the house,” Eddie instructed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, this isn’t my first rodeo, partner.”

“Shut up and hurry up.”

Richie didn’t argue, pulling the phone away and ending the call. His eyes roamed the floor, quickly landing on a pair of grey sweatpants.

“Aha!” he cheered to himself, somehow managing to jump out of his ripped jeans and pull on the sweatpants with his shoes still on the entire time. He skipped down the stairs, taking them two at a time and jumping over the final three steps.

“I’m going out,” Richie called to his mom, walking towards the kitchen and the garage door exit.

“Eddie’s?” Maggie’s voice questioned.

“I’m eighteen!” Richie shrilled in a sassy sing-song tone. “I don’t have to tell you _anything_!”

“Well, if you end up missing it’s not my fault.”

Richie ignored the irrational way that made his skin crawl—room full of clowns, missing posters, his own occupied coffin that _still_ haunted him in his dreams—pushing the thoughts deep, _deep_ down like he always did.

(Maybe if he continued to ignore, the fears would continue to remain content terrorizing his dreams only. He couldn’t control those, which made them fair playground for the demons that loved to torment him.)

“Ha, very funny,” he threw back, though he didn’t wait to see if she’d respond. Instead, he stumbled through the garage and began speeding down the road on his well-loved bike. But the thoughts played through his mind regardless, no matter how hard he focused on the light wind chill and the sound of crickets around him.

(Sometimes, he couldn’t fight back the trauma he’d lived through. So he practiced the breathing Ben had taught them the year that followed that horrible summer. Ben had read book after book, relaying all the important information. It was difficult to think back about those weeks where he dreaded being alone.

They’d had a lot of sleepovers—ones they’d have to sneak Eddie out for. And they’d huddle together in Richie’s bedroom sometimes, pretending that they weren’t crying; pretending that they could banish the memories into the deep unconscious.

Ben had taught them to focus on their breathing and how their body was connected. It was about relaxing your shoulders and allowing the negative energy to flow through and out the body.

It had all sounded like a load of bullshit. Until it worked, and Richie could sleep with his lights off again.)

By time Richie finished running through the blessedly, mind-numbing mental exercise, Eddie’s house was in view.

He finessed his way to the side of the home unscathed, maneuvering and climbing until he stood proudly in Eddie’s bedroom. The customary towel was jammed up against the slit at the bottom of Eddie’s bedroom door, and his radio played soft music in order to mask their voices.

“Took you long enough,” Eddie greeted with a gentle nudge, climbing onto his bed and patting for Richie to join him. Richie leaned down to press their lips together gently, pulling away after a moment.

“Does my damsel in distress need saving?” Richie asked, reaching a hand up to thread through Eddie’s hair—something he was only allowed to do in private. Eddie hated having mussed up hair when just anybody could see.

“Not funny,” Eddie said, but he had a soft smile across his face. It was one that Richie loved, one that still stopped his heart. “And not quite.”

“You just craving my body, baby?” Richie leaned down to capture his lips once more, but Eddie only leaned away.

“Richie, stop, not now!”

“Later?” Richie knew he sounded overeager, but this was _Eddie_, so it really didn’t fucking matter.

“Yeah, of course,” Eddie batted his hand, flicking at the wrist, as if to say, ‘_Is that even a question?’_.

“So?” Richie prompted, continuing to play with Eddie’s hair.

Eddie took a deep breath, glancing down at their laps before his eyes darted up to capture Richie’s gaze. “It’s not too late is it?”

“Too late?” Richie wasn’t sure he followed, didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“For prom, since it’s in literally two days.” Eddie shoved his hands into his pajama pant pockets. “I mean, I know I said I wouldn’t go, and don’t get me wrong a part of me is still upset and frustrated about the whole fucking situation. But I realized that I don’t want you to go without me, and I don’t want to be the only fucking person who doesn’t get to see you all dressed up and we can probably still dance _once_ together, I mean.” Eddie shrugged. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” It hit Richie suddenly, that Eddie was echoing the words he’d said weeks ago.

“Where do you want me to start?” Richie mimicked back, opening his arms for Eddie to come closer. The smaller boy did so, his brown eyes big and wide.

“Oh wait!” Eddie pulled back and lunged over the side of the bed to grab his aqua blue backpack, the one that was covered in mismatched and primary colored shapes. Richie had to grab at his waist, to insure he didn’t go tumbling off the side. “I have something for you!”

And Richie couldn’t help it, the moment was perfect for his Southern Belle voice. “Oh honey, my apple pie, you ain’t gotta do that for lil ole me. You really shouldn’t have.”

“It’s not too late,” Eddie said, though he didn’t stop ruffling through his backpack. “I can still take it back.”

“All you had to do was say so; Southern Belle isn’t your style,” Richie coughed, and switched his voice to something more sultry. “Your body’s enough for me, baby.”

“_God_, Richie,” Eddie grumbled, though there was a smile and giggle in his voice.

“Ha, busted!” Richie poked at Eddie’s side. “You can’t lie to me! I know you love me!”

“Somehow,” Eddie giggled. “I do. Also, help?”

Richie yanked at Eddie’s middle, attempting to pull him back up onto the bed. It took several minutes of grappling, before Eddie was sitting facing Richie once again.

“This is so fucking lame, but Ben and Bill said it was a good idea, so please do not laugh.”

“Now I’m nervous,” Richie teased, though he held his hands out anyway.

“Close your eyes,” Eddie instructed.

“Ooh, kinky,” Richie did as he was told, eye lashes fluttering closed.

“You fucking wish.” Eddie bantered back. After a beat, there was something placed in his open palms. He could tell by the shape and weight that it was a can of soda. Confusion piqued his interest, as he wrapped his long fingers around the cylinder.

“Can I open my eyes?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Eddie agreed.

Indeed, there was a little can of strawberry-kiwi Shasta—his absolute favorite flavor—sitting in his open palm. There was a piece of purple—his absolute favorite color—construction paper stuck to the side that read in Eddie’s scrawling handwriting, ‘_I’d be SODA-lighted to go to prom with you’_.

“Eds,” Richie murmured, surprised by the overpowering feeling of excitement and joy that washed over him. Paired with the immense amount of love he both felt for and from Eddie.

“So?” Eddie sounded vulnerable. “Is it too late?”

“Never,” Richie cleared his throat when the word came out sounding much too emotional. “I mean, of course it’s not. I’m literally about to bust an emotional nut over here, so excuse me if I make no fucking sense.”

“Bust an emotional nut?” Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed, and he let out one of Richie’s favorite laughs; the one that he didn’t mean to let out, the one that was full of shock. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“It’s like right before you cum, y’know it’s coming and so you’re so overwhelmed in the best way ever and any little thing could set you off. It’s like that, but in an emotional way.”

“Okay, I,” Eddie stopped, eyebrows furrowed. “Do you mean _crying_?”

“I don’t know!” Richie laughed, setting the can down and reaching for Eddie’s hands. “I literally just made that up, because I don’t think there’s a word for that feeling!”

“I really think that’s called crying, Richie,” Eddie said behind a laugh. “But leave it to you to invent some new dumbass way of saying things,”

“I think it’s fucking brilliant!” Richie squawked.

“You would,” Eddie deadpanned, though he gave himself away when he giggled.

“Oh, I’ll get you for that,” Richie leered, reaching over and tickling Eddie’s sides; fingers running deftly from his hipbones up to his armpits.

“Hey, no, _fuck_, stop!” Eddie wheezed around laughter, struggling to bat Richie away. In his efforts to do so, he fell onto his side on the bed, Richie tumbling over him. It gave Richie much better leverage, which was exactly what Richie needed to really get Eddie going.

“Ha, I’ve got you, Spaghetti Man!” Richie laughed as Eddie’s own laughter was very contagious.

Eddie’s limbs flung out, his hand landing hard against Richie’s shoulder, his knee jabbing into Richie’s side. Richie tried to dodge him, but it was instinct to curl up against the pain. Which was the perfect leverage for Eddie to finally get away from Richie’s grasp.

“I’m wounded, comrade, go on without me,” Richie’s Russian accent was new—and a little rough around the edges—but practice made perfect, and he didn’t really have a lot of opportunities for it. Eddie used the momentary weakness, though, to wiggle away and climb atop Richie.

“Mwahaha,” Eddie’s fake evil laugh was one of the cutest things Richie had ever heard.

“God, Eds, you are so fucking _cute_.” Richie moaned exaggeratedly. Being underneath Eddie was one of his favorite places to be. It was the perfect view for enjoying Eddie’s golden-brown eyes, and freckles that dusted across his nose and lips. And there was also the fact that he could feel Eddie growing hard against his thigh. “This entire experience is giving me an emotional boner.”

“Well make it a physical boner, please and thank you,” Eddie began placing kisses against Richie’s jaw, dragging his tongue along as he went.

“_Fuck_,” Richie’s mind was quickly turning to jelly, feeling foggy and slow. Eddie’s small twin bed was cramped, but neither minded.

“I’m so proud to love you, Rich, which is why we just gotta get the hell out of here.” Eddie murmured as he continued to kiss across Richie’s collarbones.

“Uh-huh,” Richie groaned his agreement when Eddie rolled his hips down.

Half an hour and two orgasms later, the pair curled up together; with uneven breathing and hickey covered chests, legs tangled underneath the blankets.

“Also, I made you a promposal,” Richie said with a kiss against Eddie’s bare shoulder.

“That fucking word!” Eddie huffed, though Richie chose to continue as if he hadn’t.

“And I still have it. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, just pressed a warm kiss against Richie’s cheek. He wiggled into a comfortable position; his forehead pressed against Richie’s chest as they lay on their sides facing one another. Eddie’s bed wasn’t nearly as big as Richie’s, but they fit well enough. There was nowhere on earth Richie would’ve rather been in that moment.


	2. prom night

The Friday before prom was a mad dash. It was stressful in that good way, where it was productive and fun. Richie and Eddie left last period early, hoping to find an available suit to rent. Their hopes weren’t too high, but Richie still had his fingers crossed. Together, they raced from the side doors of Derry High and towards Richie’s car, whooping excitedly when they made it undetected.

“We’ve got a shit ton of errands to run,” Richie whined. “I hate running errands.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Eddie replied, though he didn’t sound all that apologetic to Richie.

“It’s a small price to pay, Eddie Spaghetti. I’d kind of do anything to get you to come to prom.”

“Well, believe it or not I’m actually excited now.” Eddie smiled over at Richie, which. Richie couldn’t ignore the look of joy across his features. So, he leaned across the console to press a kiss against Eddie’s soft lips.

“Eyes on the road, dumbass!” Eddie screeched, a giggle slipping out. Richie laughed, too, grabbing for Eddie’s hand and pressing a kiss to the top of it.

“But you’re just so cute, cute, cute!” Richie cooed, lacing their fingers together and bringing them to set comfortably in his lap. Eddie leaned further over, so their shoulders brushed one another.

“You think we’ll actually find a suit?” Eddie asked, his lips settling into a worried pout. It took everything in Richie to not reach over and kiss it off his face.

“There has to be someplace that isn’t sold out,” Richie assured him.

“I don’t know, prom’s tomorrow and it’s kind of a big deal around here.” Eddie stressed. “But your optimism is admirable.”

Their first stop was the same boutique that Richie had rented his own suit from. Their budget was small, seeing as Mrs. K wasn’t exactly ecstatic to hear that her only son was going stag to senior prom. Eddie had had to do a ton of conniving, but his mother’s credit card was currently in his wallet, so it had all worked out in the end. Mrs. K was kind of the worst, but Eddie had gotten okay at working her over the years.

The bell over the door dinged as they walked in. A little old lady approached them and after explaining their situation, Eddie was getting fitted. Apparently not all hope was lost. From the other side of the fitting room door, Richie could hear Eddie whining about how uncomfortable the suit was, how the fabric was scratchy and _“Richie, do you think this has even been washed since its last use?!”_ with pure panic in his voice. It took a bit of coaching to get Eddie to even try it on all the way. Luckily, for Eddie, that one didn’t fit.

Two more suits later, and they had found the one that fit. It was black; Eddie had scrunched his nose at it at first, but wordlessly taken a deep breath and deemed it the one. (Richie’s heart broke a tiny bit for his boyfriend and how unfair the entire situation was. He shouldn’t’ve had to settle.)

It was as Eddie was paying for his rental suit that Richie realized that it was actually happening. It wouldn’t be how he’d imagined it, nor would it be peak teenage romance. But it would be important to be there together. Eddie’s lilac tie would sort of match Richie’s outrageous purple bowtie. And it would be happy to just be together. Richie wanted to focus on _that_.

X

Their next errand involved filling a grocery cart and swiping Wentworth Tozier’s credit card. Richie had been right—after his parents’ third drinks of the night they’d been loose and agreeable and handed over the credit card under the guise of a small after prom get together. Stretching the truth was okay, Richie had decided, when it involved something as important as _prom night_.

“We need chips,” Eddie, bless his heart, had come prepared with a list. It wasn’t entirely Eddie’s fault, though, seeing as there were several different styles of handwriting on the page. In Mike’s stylized block letters there were things like _seven-layer dip, _and _carrots, celery and ranch dressing dip_. Beverly’s chicken scratch read_ licorice + jellybeans + Cheetos_. And there was also Ben’s neat penmanship of _hostess donuts, cupcakes, shasta cans._ Richie hadn’t bothered to add anything of his own, as he preferred to be spontaneous.

“Aye-aye Cap’n,” Richie slurred his words in his best pirate lilt. “These be troubled waters up ahead.”

“If you mean a sea of little old ladies who tiptoe down the aisles then yes, you are correct,” Eddie agreed, trying to maneuver the grocery cart past two middle aged women deeply engrossed in some sort of neighborhood gossip. Richie kind of wanted to stay behind to find out what Susan had gotten up to, as it sounded highly scandalous.

“Why are grocery stores like this?”

“I think it’s just Derry,” Eddie shrugged, reaching up to grab several bags of nacho cheese Doritos.

“A man after my own heart,” Richie placed a hand against his chest and fake swooned. “Thank god you didn’t go for cool ranch.”

“Stan likes cool ranch,” Eddie pointed out, going to grab a bag. Richie swatted lightly at his hand.

“Well Stan’s morally wrong!” Richie cried in outrage, earning him several glares and curious glances. Luckily, Eddie didn’t seem disturbed by their sudden audience.

“I didn’t realize Dorito flavors had any sort of morality.” Eddie smiled over at him.

“Well good thing I’m here then, Spaghetti. Someone’s got to teach you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, good thing.”

Since he couldn’t exactly wrap his arms around Eddie in Allen’s Grocery Store in Derry, Maine, Richie settled on reaching over and pinching Eddie’s hip. He squirmed away though he did smile. Richie counted it as a success.

They paused a bit down the aisle to grab the many chip dips that had been requested by the other Losers. While Eddie was distracted, though, Richie hopped onto the end of the shopping cart. It tipped slightly, now lopsided with the added weight of Richie. Eddie’s head whipped around, arm reaching out to steady the cart.

“No! Get down!” Eddie squawked. “We’re going to get kicked out again!”

“Come on, Eds!”

“No! I can’t see with you on the back, and I’m not running into a dumb display or little child or crotchety old lady!” Eddie shook his head seriously. “You’re too fucking tall and I can’t fucking see around you!”

A grandma passed by them as Eddie ranted, gasping loudly and obnoxiously at Eddie’s words. Richie did his best to not burst into laughter at the look of pure disdain across the elderly lady’s face. Eddie had to wrap a hand around his mouth to hide his own laughter, but not before saying,

“What the hell are you looking at?!”

This earned the pair another murderous glare before she shuffled along.

“It’s you that’s going to get us kicked out!” Richie pointed an accusatory finger at Eddie. “You’re going to ruin their virgin ears!”

“Oh well, I guess,” Eddie shrugged, his arms crossed against his chest. “They’re just words and if she can’t handle it like an adult that’s not my problem.” Richie laughed, and he felt it bubble up in his chest.

“Whatever you say, Eds,”

This was them, Richie found himself thinking as they continued on their shopping. And it was the second completely sappy moment of his day; which made it a completely normal afternoon with his boyfriend. As each day passed—their freedom getting closer and closer—it felt more _real_. Soon, they would grocery shop together every week. And they would banter in the soup aisle. Richie couldn’t fucking wait.

X

Richie had begged Eddie to come over early Saturday morning and get ready for prom together. (He’d even put on his best pout the night before, rubbing a soft hand down Eddie’s arm, biting at his bottom lip and batting his eyelashes. Eddie must’ve had a resolve made of stone to ignore that.) But Eddie had insisted having a sweet moment when they finally met up. (Eddie had also been terrified of making his mother suspicious, but he’d only tiptoed around that reason. Richie was unsure if it was to protect Richie’s feelings or if he’d been too afraid of voicing it aloud.)

But Richie hadn’t wanted to spend prom day all alone. Which was why Beverly and Stan were currently sitting in his bedroom on a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon.

Stan hadn’t wanted to be alone, either, Richie suspected. He’d already expressed his disappointment of being lonely on senior prom night. But it beat going with someone he wasn’t interested in.

And Beverly’s aunt had to work all day, and so it made sense for her to get ready with someone else. Richie hadn’t wanted one of his best friends to get all dolled up alone. Beverly had gone on and on about her dress and her shoe choice and how perfect it was all going to look together.

“Pearls or no pearls?” Beverly asked, holding a necklace up against her.

Stan glanced up from his spot sat on the bed, his suit in a garment bag hanging on the back of Richie’s bedroom door. He hadn’t gotten dressed yet and was instead leaning against Richie’s headboard with a novel in his lap. He’d been reading them interesting passages, and they’d both pretended to give a shit. (Except, Richie suspected, Beverly might’ve actually cared. She seemed sincere enough.) Richie loved hearing his friends talk, but it just didn’t seem like the time for a historical fiction.

“Definitely pearls,” Stan offered after a moment of contemplation. He’d already styled his hair and allowed Beverly to dust some sort of rose quartz powder against the soft skin of his face.

“Richie?” Beverly turned to face the other, one of her eyebrows raised.

“I agree with Stanley,”

“That’s a first,” Beverly snorted, her blue eyes sparkling with laughter.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Richie turned to wink at Stan, though he was looking back down at his book. He was a sight, sitting stock still—back straight, legs laid out in front of him, one ankle sitting atop the other—with a finger tracing his spot on his book.

“I’m so flattered,” Stan shot back.

Suddenly, the radio station went to a commercial break that was much louder than what they had previously been listening to. Stan jumped, Beverly clutched a hand at her chest and Richie swung out his arm towards the sound. Realization dawned on each of them, before Richie broke out in nervous laughter.

“Great reflexes, comrades,” Richie jumped into his Russian accent, grabbing a tape and shoving it into his stereo player. It felt better to prevent it from happening again. “Our training has been successful.”

Beverly still had her hand against her chest, her breathing calming but still erratic. She looked wildly between the stereo, Richie and Stanley. Richie could see the fear that still surrounded her iris’ and he didn’t think there was anything he could do or say to calm the energy of the room. It was just one of those things they all shared; looking twice behind themselves, never entering a room full of darkness, weariness around new people and situations. Halloween fucking sucked. So did horror movies.

Richie chanced a glance at Stan, and he looked much the same—glossy eyes, chest heaving up and down, pale cheeks. Any reminders of that summer where daunting and horrifying for Stan. He looked distant, far away.

Beverly quickly crossed the distance from Richie’s dresser—as it had become Beverly’s cosmetic corner for the day—to gingerly sit beside Stan on the bed. Richie finished messing with the stereo, happy to have his hands busy.

“Hey, Stan, breathe with me, okay?” Beverly’s voice was soft, and although the words weren’t meant for him, Richie found himself obeying her instructions. She was braver than any of them.

Richie listened as Stan took several exasperated, uneven breaths. He sounded labored and out of breath; panic, Richie recognized.

Richie pushed play on the tape, listening as The Cure filled the space around them. It was background noise, now. But it was comforting; better than silence.

Beverly continued to talk to Stan in hushed tones, and Richie let her voice wash over him, too. He sat at the foot of his bed, pulling his legs towards his body until he sat crisscross. It was uncomfortable to do so in his suit pants, and his white button up felt restricting.

Richie could feel his own chest loosen—breathing coming easier—as Stan sounded better. It was relieving.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” Stan whined, his voice muffled. Richie turned to face him, finding Stan’s hands covering his face.

“Not even,” Beverly shook her head, her bright hair dancing around her face as she did so. It made her golden colored barrettes catch the light.

“If you’re stupid, then I’m stupid,” Richie found himself saying, all the while knowing it was true. “That shit still gets to me, too. It happened just the other day.”

Stan pulled his hands away to look Richie over, nodding to himself when he found truth in Richie’s words.

“It might not ever fully go away,” Richie shrugged helplessly. “But we’re not _stupid_ because of that. There are plenty of other things that make _you_ stupid, Stanley, but not that.”

Stan cracked a rue smile, pulling at the ends of his curls. “You suck, Trashmouth,” but the lightheartedness in his voice gave him away.

Richie realized belatedly that Stan was brave, too. It may not have been loud and flashy, but it was recovery in the face of destruction. It was healing when it seemed impossible. And Richie didn’t know what the word for that was. Except maybe it was bravery, too.

Richie knew he had to make a joke, had to revive the excitement they had all been feeling only fifteen minutes before. Stan and Richie were sitting with the future Derry High prom queen, the sun was shining, graduation was approaching, and they had planned a bomb-ass after party. That was enough. Living for the moment was enough to combat all they had been through.

X

“There here!” Beverly cheered, glancing away from Richie’s bedroom window.

Indeed, pulling into the driveway was Ben’s little piece of shit car. And although it was certainly an eye sore, its peeling red paint was sort of charming.

“Oh em gee!” Richie stressed the letters of the popular phrase, looking away so as not to be spoiled by Eddie’s look.

At Eddie’s request, Ben had happily agreed to pick him up on the way to pick up Beverly. And with Beverly at Richie’s house, Richie could drive his boyfriend to prom. It was all about the little things. (Plus, Mrs. K sort of liked Ben and she sort of hated Richie. It only made sense.)

“My parents already requested about a million pictures, so brace yourselves,” Richie warned, grabbing his dress shoes from his closet and turning to face Stan and Bev. “How do I look?!”

“No shittier than normal,” Stan said in his most deadpan tone. Richie whined.

“Come on, Stanley, help me out here!”

“You look _dashing_,” Beverly smiled at him. “Now come on, let’s go.”

The three friends raced down the staircase, and Richie threw the front door open just as Ben was reaching up to knock.

“Well don’t you look adorable, Benny-boy!” Richie cooed. “Just wait until Beverly gets a look at you!”

Ben answered with something—probably good, but not quite _funny_—though Richie didn’t catch it, as his eyes had already landed on Eddie. He stood just behind Ben, wringing his hands nervously. (Richie could see all his worry across his face; of being caught, of getting anxious at the prom, of wrecking the suit and being unable to turn it in.) Richie could see the moment Eddie felt his eyes on him, as he glanced over and smiled.

The lilac tie was pressed, free of any wrinkles, setting carefully against his chest. The suit jacket fit perfectly. But more than that, his _gorgeous_ face was slightly flushed—no doubt from the warm ride in Ben’s A/C-less car—and his freckles stood out against his skin. And his eyes—one of Richie’s absolute, favorite parts of Eddie—were glistening. Warm, golden, brown orbs stared back at him, dancing with joy and mirth. He was a goddamn _dream_, a perfect sight. Richie felt utterly shot through the heart.

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie waved lamely, and Richie felt his chest burst with joy. He cat-called at his boyfriend, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“_Fuck_, Eds, you’re like so handsome,” his Valley Girl voice came out, and he cursed himself. Had he ruined the moment?

Eddie just shook his head at him, his smile never faltering. “Thanks. You clean up good yourself, Trashmouth.”

“Oh you flatter me.” Richie made grabby hands at Eddie, as they were all still standing around the door threshold. Eddie made to move, when Maggie ran into the entryway.

“Oh good, everyone’s here!” She clapped her hands together, her many rings clanking together on her fingers. “Let’s line you all up on the staircase!”

“Moooom,” Richie groaned. He’d known it was coming, but it wasn’t enough to prepare him for the following twenty minutes.

“Richard,” his mother narrowed her eyes at him, before glancing at the others. “Wait, where’s Mike? And Bill?”

“They’re riding with their dates, Mrs. T,” Ben answered, finally walking through the doorway behind Eddie, closing it behind him.

“Oh, well,” Maggie looked defeated for a moment. “No matter. Line up, tallest to shortest. Richie, climb up to the top.” She pointed at Richie, then towards the stairs, before pointing at Eddie next, “Eddie, dear, let’s have you beside Richie.” Eddie obeyed silently, ascending the stairs and grabbing Richie’s outstretched hand.

“Hm,” Maggie put a finger to her face. “Stanley, how about you stand on the stair right in front of the boys?”

“Alright, Mrs. T,” Stan followed her instructions.

“Actually-” Maggie started, though Richie cut across her, unable to listen to her demands for the rest of the night.

“Mom, seriously, it looks great like this!” Richie threw his hands in the air. “Bev and Ben can stand in front, ‘cause they’re adorable and short and we’ll all look great!”

“_Tone_, Richard, Jesus Christ.” Maggie chastised, finally lifting the camera that hung around her neck. She snapped once, before twisting the film and taking another. “You kids all look great.” She smiled. “Would your parents like one of you two together, Ben? Or your aunt, Beverly?”

“That’d be great,” Beverly smiled, moving to the side to allow Stan, Richie and Eddie out of the shot and down the stairs.

Richie messed with his curls in the mirror that hung beside the front door, knowing that his mom would soon demand a picture of him and Eddie. He didn’t mind; he couldn’t express enough his gratitude for his parent’s acceptance and love for his relationship with Eddie. It wasn’t something he’d ever expected. Plus, he wanted a copy for himself. He could keep it in his wallet; remember how fucking _gorgeous_ Eddie looked.

“Richie,” his moms voice cut through his reverie, sounding a smidge emotional. Richie decided to ignore _that_. “Eddie, you two get up there now.”

“Let’s do one of those horrendous poses, Eds,” Richie suggested, standing behind Eddie and wrapping his arms around his middle. Eddie squirmed for a moment, before relaxing at Maggie’s cluck of mild annoyance. Richie rested his chin atop Eddie’s shoulder, smiling broadly at his mother’s camera.

Maggie requested several other shots, and Richie attempted to humor her each time. Until he’d finally had it, four shots in.

“Mom, seriously, enough,” Richie groaned, jumping up and down in order to ruin her chance of snapping another photo.

“We better get going, Maggie,” Beverly luckily cut in, her voice much gentler than Richie’s.

“Alright, fine,” she huffed, though she was smiling. “Go on, have fun! Make memories.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Richie reminded her as he walked past. “Remember? Sleep over at Mike’s farm.” He added on when she gave him a look of confusion.

“Right,” she nodded. “Well, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah,”

Richie ran out the door, following his friends out into the April sunshine. The sun continued its trek across the skyline, beginning to slightly dip towards the West end of the horizon. They should’ve taken pictures outside, Richie realized belatedly. The lighting was perfect.

Richie waved goodbye to his friends as they headed to prom in Ben’s shit car. Beverly waved back; her corsage visible on her wrist. Stan flipped Richie off from his place in the backseat, causing laughter to bubble from Richie’s chest.

It was _time_. He grabbed Eddie’s hand into his own, leaning down to place a kiss against it. Eddie whined Richie’s name, though there was more happiness in it than annoyance. Which was just about the expectation with Eddie.

X

Bill, Stan, Eddie and Richie stood together in the boy’s bathroom off the west hallway. They could hear the pounding of the music from the gymnasium, and it served as the perfect back drop for their mission. They had decided to keep Mike out of the loop, though it seemed that his chances of winning were still high. Beverly also had to be obviously left in the dark, which meant Ben was out on the dance floor with her. They couldn’t really steal their prom queen’s date.

“Ohk-k-kay,” Bill started, reaching into his pockets to pull out pens. “Here’s the p-p-plan. Everyone t-t-take a p-pen and write B-b-beverly’s name.”

“Try to change your handwriting,” Stan added. “We don’t want it to look suspicious.”

“I highly doubt they’ll look into that at all.” Richie disagreed, grabbing at a voting ballot from the pile they’d collected. It had taken all four of them grabbing handfuls to create the pile they had accumulated. He scrawled onto the ballot _‘Beverly Marsh’_. Satisfied, he plopped it into a new pile in the sink that Eddie had dried out. “Get started, Losers,” Richie nudged Eddie with his shoulder hard enough that he fell against Stan.

“_Richie_,” Stan whined, though he righted himself quickly and grabbed a paper and pen.

Eddie and Bill scrambled to get started, writing quickly and messily. Stan and Eddie cautiously changed their handwriting every couple of ballots, which Richie couldn’t help but laugh at.

“I c-c-can’t st-tay long,” Bill spoke up after a moment. “Nic-cole will g-g-get suspicious.” Bill had told his date he was simply running to the restroom. Which wasn’t exactly too far from the truth. They were currently in the restroom. Though Richie understood it wasn’t quite the same.

“Yeah, yeah, you wanna ditch us,” Richie shrugged. “We get it.”

“V-v-very funny,” Bill said though he was smiling. “F-f-ive more.”

And so it went on, the four boys writing quickly. As he promised, Bill left after scribbling a couple more ballots. Their large pile of blank slips was dwindling, though Richie felt it would go a lot quicker if Eddie and Stan would stop fussing over their different styles of handwriting. Their conversation was all, ‘_Is this different enough?’_ and ‘_I’ve already used cursive three times!’_ Richie loved the effort, but it just didn’t make since, considering a panel of three people would be reading over the ballots, and then adding them all together. Anxiety though, Richie knew, didn’t consider the logistics of a situation. Richie had seen it first-hand many times in his boyfriend and best friend.

The music streaming in from the gymnasium changed into something more upbeat. It was a welcome change, as it was one of the first _good_ songs to actually play that night.

“_Fuck_, I love this song!” Richie stopped writing to dance along. His dancing including hip gyrating and booty shaking; the best kind of dancing. “Come on, Eds, dance with me!”

“No, stop, you’re not even dancing!” Eddie chirped, batting at Richie playfully.

“Come _on,_” Richie grabbed at Eddie’s waist, the smooth material of his suit gentle against his fingers. Eddie came easily, their bodies pressed together.

Richie grabbed Eddie’s hands into his own, pushing with his right and pulling with his left alternating back and forth and then adding in a toe-heel touch. Eddie followed his lead, only fumbling a little.

Of course, it was only coordinated for a couple of moments before it turned sloppy. Richie had zero coordination, and Eddie fumbled trying to keep up with Richie’s accelerating pace. Their movements grew harsher, until they were practically shoving the other back and forth.

Eddie’s laugh was contagious. His smile took over his whole face as he continued to bounce back and forth with Richie. As the song ended, Richie spun Eddie under his arm and bowed once Eddie was facing him again.

“Are you guys gonna help me?” Stan broke the moment, but when Richie glanced over, he saw a smile across his friend’s face.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” Eddie blushed lightly, though he did reach up onto his tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to Richie’s lips. It was soft and warm—two of Eddie’s best attributes in Richie’s humble opinion.

“I’m just teasing,” Stan chuckled. “I finished while you two had your little moment.” He flashed the cards at them from where he had them in his grasps. “I think I should put them all in the box. If I hold them right, it’ll look like I’m only putting in one.”

“Good thinkin’, Stanley the Manly.” Richie nodded his agreement. Stan gathered up the pens, and the three checked to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything.

Which was when _I’ll Make Love To You_ by Boyz II Men started playing. It was meant to be one of the many slow dances of the night, and Richie could vaguely hear the cheesy introduction given by the DJ. Richie was shocked the song was allowed on the playlist at all, seeing as it wasn’t very innocent.

Eddie looked up at Richie, his eyes big and starry eyed. It was a bit overwhelming, and his stomach turned immediately to mush. _This_, Richie realized, was why Eddie had wanted to go to prom at all. It had been the idea of dancing with Richie to some stupid love song that had seemed so appealing and daunting to Eddie. And this was the perfect song. Richie was secure enough to admit that Boyz II Men were pretty talented and the epitome of romance.

Eddie batted his eyelashes up at Richie, and he wondered if his boyfriend knew he was doing it. He seemed kind of lost in his thoughts, allowing his emotions to play out across his features. Richie soaked in the view; Eddie’s golden and sparkly eyes, his punch stained red lips, his perfectly styled hair. And despite being in the guy’s restroom at their shitty high school, it all felt sort of romantic. The intro of the song was fading into the first verse, and Richie knew what he wanted, knew what Eddie wanted.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Richie sensed Stan walking out of the restroom, the door swinging shut behind him. Richie had sort of forgotten their best friend had been in there with them at all.

“Wanna dance?” Richie asked, aware of how cheesy and sappy and _stupid_ it all was. But he didn’t really mind, wasn’t afraid of feeling the awkward emotions of situations. Especially if it made Eddie look like _that_.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Eddie teased, though he took Richie’s hand into his own and allowed himself to be pulled close to Richie’s body. Richie had his arms around Eddie’s neck, and Eddie had wrapped his own around Richie’s middle.

The song played on, and the two began to sway. Eddie tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, blinking happily up at Richie. Neither spoke, and it kept the moment soft; something they rarely were. It was usually loud between the two, filled with banter and laughter. But this was them too. And it felt like _everything_. It may have been silly, but Richie smiled through it anyway. Because regardless of the cliché of it all, Eddie was every dream come true.

As the harmony of the chorus began to play, Richie crooned along. Eddie smiled up at him, before placing his head against Richie’s chest. Eddie was warm in his arms.

“_I’ll make love to you, like you want me to, and I’ll hold you tight, baby all through the night_,” Richie sang along, pitching his voice to hopefully harmonize. Eddie had told him multiple times that he loved his singing voice, so it totally added to the ambience of the entire situation.

The song faded into the next, and Richie was slow to pull away. He knew they couldn’t spend the rest of the night in the bathroom—he didn’t really want to anyway—though he was hesitant to step away from the moment they had created. It was their senior prom and it was their one dance. The dance that Eddie had wanted to have so badly. And while he hadn’t allowed himself to think about wanting it before, Richie could admit that he had wanted it, too. He’d been willing to ignore that desire, but now that he’d had it, he felt satisfied. Prom was officially a success. Regardless if Beverly won, regardless of how their after party went, regardless of anything else they had had their dance.

X

An hour, too many glasses of punch and a bunch of sorta okay music later, the Student Body President—Andrew Preston—finally took to the stage, tapping the microphone several times and sending an alarming sound across the gymnasium.

“Wow, this has been a great night,” Andrew’s voice was ear splitting as it echoed. “And it’s now the time we’ve all been waiting for!”

The crowd cheered around them. Richie wolf-whistled, startling Ben in the process, causing him to jump. Eddie and Richie snickered together.

“Cross your f-f-fingers,” Bill whispered to their group, and Richie watched as he did cross his middle and pointer finger together. Richie copied, and glanced around as Eddie, Stan and Ben did the same. This was their big moment.

“The votes have been cast and counted.” Andrew continued, voice still shrill and annoying. “So, without further ado let us crown 1994’s prom king and queen!”

Victoria—senior vice president—brought an envelope to Andrew and together they ripped it open. Richie held his breath, suddenly kind of overwhelmed. This was their big moment. This was what they had planned for, the whole reason Richie had felt so much pressure to attend. They’d spent so much time as the _Losers_ and while Richie was proud to be one, he also kind of wanted to rub it in _everyone’s _faces.

“Your prom king is… drum roll, please!”

“Oh for gods sake,” Stan grumbled under his breath, just as the entire gym erupted in mock drumming, hands against thighs.

“Mike Hanlon!” Andrew grinned, clapping along with the student body.

Mike looked _adorable_; Richie could hardly contain himself. His smile lit up his entire face, eyes crinkling at the sides. His nose scrunched up, and he did a mini cheer. Allison wrapped him up in a hug, before the other Losers joined in the chaos. They patted his shoulders, and wrapped arms around his neck and screamed his name.

Mike jogged up the stage and took the steps two at a time. He looked absolutely _dashing_ in his suit, which Richie had told him no less than a dozen times—because it was fucking true. Andrew placed the gaudy, plastic crown atop Mike’s head and he beamed.

“This is fucking crazy; I can’t believe I was crowned prom king!” Richie jumped in place, yelling loudly to the other losers.

“_Mike_ is prom king.” Stan corrected, though his joy was apparent.

“Mikey, Richie, basically the same thing.” Richie grabbed his friends into a hug, continuing to jump in place all together. “We’re prom royalty, guys!”

“Let’s hear it for Mike Hanlon!” Andrew bellowed into the microphone again and the crowd erupted in more cheering.

“Way to go, gorgeous!” Richie cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed as loudly as he could. He got some smiles and some glares from the rest of their class, though it hardly mattered to Richie.

“And let’s have another drum roll for our prom queen!” Victoria spoke into the microphone now, holding a little slip of paper in her hands.

“This is it,” Richie whispered to Eddie and Ben who were standing closest to him. Ben raised his hand to show off his crossed fingers. Richie glanced over to Beverly, wanting to see her expression the moment her name was called. Richie _knew_ it would happen; they didn’t need luck or crossed fingers. They’d taken it into their own hands, and it was time to prove that.

“Your prom queen is… Beverly Marsh!” The crowd erupted in cheering and curious glances over at them.

Richie could see the moment it set in for Bev; her effervescent blue eyes widened, a gasp falling from her glossy, stained lips. She looked around in shock; confusion was apparent on her features as she looked at each of the boys in turn.

“Go on, Bevy,” Ben had a big and bright smile on his lips as he pushed at her shoulder gently. She gasped a laugh and covered her mouth with her hand. Her other hand messed with the ends of her hair, rolling the pearls of her necklace between her fingers.

“What is going on?!” She asked, her voice bubbling in another laugh.

“Go get your c-c-crown, B-bev!” Bill encouraged; his own face taken over by the joy they all shared.

She nodded, her eyes still big in shock, though she did turn and walk towards the stage.

“We did it! It actually fucking worked!” Eddie exclaimed, and the look of pure elation on his face was so contagious.

“Of course it did!” Richie cheered. “My hand is fucking sore from writing her name so many goddamn times.”

“What are you talking about?!” Stan turned on Richie, and he wasn’t sure if it was mock rage or true exasperation. “I wrote more than half of those by myself!”

Richie ignored him in favor of watching one of his absolute best friends in the entire universe be crowned prom queen. On the stage, Mike had thrown an arm over her shoulders, and the costume jewelry crown placed on her head sparkled under the bright fairy lights scattered around the gymnasium. She was beaming, waving over at the rest of the Losers. She looked _incredible_. And really happy.

“Score for the L-l-losers!” Bill pumped his fist in the air.

“We’re prom royalty!” Richie cheered again, grabbing Eddie’s hand and twirling him around. Eddie guffawed, clumsy on his feet. “I’m so proud of us!”

X

The Hanlon’s barn looked _amazing_, if Richie felt like bragging—and he did. They’d strung up fairy lights and streamers in Derry High colors. Bill and Beverly had spent hours cutting out perfectly symmetrical stars and hung them from the lofty ceiling of the barn. They had insisted on keeping the prom theme at their party.

The others had set up several tables across the open room—for food, for drinks, for their sound system. There were even beanbags in the corner.

The Losers’ left prom early, racing out across town towards the Hanlon barn. It’d been a mad dash to make it before their guests.

Bill, Eddie and Stan had been on food duty; carrying trays and bowls from the kitchen and out to the barn. Beverly and Mike had gathered all the accumulated alcohol. Ben was meant to bring out the spiked punch bowl. Richie was on music duty, organizing his tapes and preparing the music schedule for the night.

Finally, car engines and horns could be heard just outside the barn.

“Ready, Losers?” Mike called, grabbing a can of beer and popping it open.

“Born ready!” Beverly answered, following in Mike’s lead.

“That’s _royal_ Losers to you!” Richie corrected.

“The r-r-royal l-losers?!” Bill laughed loudly.

“Yeah, it’s basically a win for us all.” Stan agreed, smile growing across his face.

“Two of our own got crowned, Billy-boy,” Richie felt the need to remind him. “This is literally, like huge.”

“That’s what she said.” Eddie and Beverly chorused at the same time, leading to giggling among them all.

And then it all began; quickly and overwhelmingly and loudly.

“Hi, hello,” Richie stood at the large barn doorway. “Welcome to Losers’ Castle!” Richie had stolen Mike’s crown and wore it lopsided, nestled around his curls. Some classmates gave Richie funny looks, others fist bumped him on the way in.

X

(A lot of the party was a blur. Richie remembered parts and moments, as if the night were an episode of a sitcom. There were bits and pieces, but overall it was an overwhelming feeling of excitement. And switching cassette tapes. And drinking games, dancing, screaming along to the best songs, and more drinking.)

X

“How about a toast?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Beverly bounced in her black docs, a smile lighting up her face. “To Mike and me!”

“Mike and I,” Stan mumbled, looking slightly guilty as if he physically couldn’t stop himself from doing so.

“_No_,” Bill shook his head vehemently. “To all of u-u-us!” His _s_ was long and his smile large.

“Isn’t it getting a bit old, pretending as if you’ve all somehow won prom royalty?” Allison cut across their banter, looking a bit annoyed. “Also, Richard you should probably give Mike his prom king crown back. He did earn it.”

Richie gave her a look of confusion, feeling a tad bothered by her presence all together. Why was Mike too nice to say no to a shitty prom date?

“He goes by Richie,” Eddie spoke before anyone else could, a glare evident. “And yeah, Rich, quit hogging the crown, it’s my turn!”

Richie laughed, pulling the crown off his head and placing it atop Eddie’s. He looked adorable in it, so much so that Richie had to pinch at his cheeks.

“Are you all serious?” Allison asked again, whipping her head around to look at each of the Losers in turn, finally settling on Mike. He only shrugged.

“I don’t mind. It’s just a dumb crown,”

“It’s plastic.” Beverly added, pulling her own crown off and placing it on Ben. “You’re rockin’ it, babe.”

Ben looked very pleased.

“You shouldn’t have even been prom queen!” Allison looked infuriated. “And you’re not taking it seriously at all!”

There was stunned silence among the seven of them. Ben looked like he might punch Allison, Bill ready to stop him should it turn to that. Eddie looked disgusted, and Richie was sure he didn’t look much nicer.

“Allison, it’s okay,” Mike looked down at her, biting at his bottom lip like he did when he was worried. “She won fair and square.”

Richie was suddenly very grateful they hadn’t let Mike in on their little secret plan. It was better he didn’t know at the moment.

“No, no. This is not okay.” Allison’s voice rose and Richie wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d stomped her foot in that moment. She was the perfect image of an upset child, crossed arms and everything. “And if you think this is okay, then you’re insane!”

And then Allison did stomp off. Leaving the seven Loses standing around in mild to severe shock.

“She fucking sucks,” Eddie snorted.

“I was going to say she was a fucking delight,” Richie retorted. “Sarcastically, of course. But I like your idea better, Eds.”

“Who needs her.” Beverly added, slinging an arm around Mike’s shoulder. He didn’t appear to be too upset, more confused and exasperated. “Come dance with me, King Mikey,”

And so they did. Derry High prom king and queen bounced around together while Ben and Eddie wore their crowns, standing by to watch.

X

“You gonna get your dance with Mikey, Stanny?” Richie cooed sometime after beer number three. Richie reached up to attempt pinching Stan’s cheeks affectionately when a light blush lit up his cheeks. Stan batted his hand away too quickly, though. “His dates gone now, too!”

“Shut up!” Stan scolded, looking away to make sure that Mike hadn’t heard. Of course he hadn’t, he was currently shimmying back and forth with Beverly.

“Chill, it’s okay,” Richie gestured towards Mike. “Plus, I don’t think you need to hide it from him anyway.”

“You’re seriously so drunk right now, Richie, please stop talking.” Richie watched the franticness in his voice cover his features, effectively stopping him.

“Just think about it.” Richie suggested softly.

“Th-th-think about what?” Bill joined them, his face flushed pink.

“Stanley the Manley getting a dance,”

“It’s nothing,” Stan corrected a tad aggressively. “Let’s go check out the beer pong game, Bill.”

Stan grabbed Bill and tugged him across the barn. Bill went easily, although he did through Richie a look of confusion over his shoulder as he went.

X

Richie registered Bill and Eddie screaming his name from a table off in the corner of the barn. He could see Eddie standing on his tip toes, waving his arms in the air in hopes of getting Richie’s attention.

“What’s going on?!” Beverly was beside him, her eyes glassy.

“Ooooh,” Richie’s eyes got big. “Beer pong! Let’s go play!”

Beverly’s eyes lit up when she caught onto what was going on. “Wanna team up?!”

“No else I’d rather do it with,” Richie promised her, allowing her to pull his wrist to the other side of the barn.

“We challenge you!” Richie yelled as they approached, scrunching his nose to bring his glasses farther up his nose.

“You can’t!” Eddie shook his head. “Bill and I already challenged you first!”

“It d-d-d-doesn’t matter!” Bill shook his head. “Let’s p-play!”

The game didn’t go _well_. (Unless you were Stan, standing by the side, and laughing at everything that happened.)

Richie’s shot was horrible. Beverly was alright, but she’d already had way too much to drink. Eddie was loud, shouting profanities at everyone. Including Bill; even when he was reminded that Bill was on his team. Eddie had responded with an angry, “_Well maybe you shouldn’t be! You fucking suck!”_

X

As the night went on, the world got fuzzier and brighter. It seemed to Richie that the music was somehow both louder and yet more distant. Mike’s stereo system was deafening and booming, seeming to shake the barn with every drop of the beat.

Richie had taken too many shots, losing all of his sense of inhibition. After playing beer pong and mingling with their party guests, Richie wanted nothing more than to grind against Eddie. Which was what he was currently attempting.

“Rich, no, _no_,” Eddie’s voice was slurred, and his pupils were blown.

“Eddie, you’re like so _fucking_ hot,” Richie’s mind felt fuzzy in the best way possible. And he’d planned his whole life to have sex with Eddie after prom—okay, maybe more like a couple of weeks—but his mind was so hazy he could barely grasp where Eddie’s body was in relation to his own.

Eddie had a sappy, lopsided smile across his features at the moment, luckily. (Eddie could be a bit of an angry drunk. So this change of pace was welcome.)

“_You’re_ hot!” Eddie shouted, and it didn’t seem that anyone around them heard. (Although Richie wasn’t sure he really cared if they were caught—which _okay_.)

“No, Eddie Spaghetti, I said it first!” Richie was not about to let Eddie claim that compliment for himself. “And you’re hottest!”

“Rich, fuck no! Look at you!” Eddie just pointed both index fingers at Richie, eyes roaming his body. Richie didn’t mind at all, loved the way it made his skin flush and his blood rush to his dick.

“Apple of my eye, cherry pie, love ‘til I die, _Eds_,” Richie got lost, his mind only supplying cute nicknames for his darling boyfriend that stood before him.

“Yeah, Rich?” Eddie had a smirk across his features. “Do I win?!”

“Oh, yeah!” Richie laughed to himself. “Nope. ‘Cause you’re the hottest guy in this room, this town, no this _world_!”

“Are you two seriously fighting over who is hotter?!” Stan broke the argument, causing both Richie and Eddie to turn. It made Richie dizzy, moving too quickly.

“Come on,” Stan gestured to the middle of the dancing crowd. “Mike’s got a surprise.”

Just as Stan finished speaking, Richie heard Mike’s booming voice.

“To the Losers!” Mike exclaimed, grabbing at Stan’s hand as the song began—a Losers’ club favorite, _Friends Will Be Friends _by Queen. Stan quickly masked his shocked expression and smiled up at Mike. If Richie wasn’t mistaken, there was a sparkle dancing in Stan’s iris’; meant only for one Mike Hanlon. Freddie Mercury’s voice rang through the still thrumming barn. And although there were still many of their classmate’s present, this moment was theirs.

Richie joined the middle of the makeshift dance floor, seeing the others join in his peripheral. The guitar was loud and electric, and Richie strummed along in the air. Eddie and Bill had taken hands and were jumping in a circle together. (Richie saw vomit in their future.)

“I love this song!” Eddie yelled right into Bill’s face, and the alarm on his face was hilarious.

Beverly spun several times under Ben’s lifted hand, the tin straps of her maroon dress slipping off her shoulders.

Richie couldn’t remember all the words, but it didn’t really matter. He could form enough words that were close enough until the chorus began. Together, the seven of them screamed along. It was loud and way off key. But it was also strangely intimate—as the Losers’ seemed to always be.

Richie grabbed for Mike’s hand when he was close enough, holding tightly and jumping up and down. After a moment, Beverly took his other hand, her other hand tightly grasping Ben’s. They made a circle—and it felt oddly familiar, but the alcohol made a lot of things feel sort of de ja vu, so Richie ignored it. They were jumping, scream-singing and spinning their large circle. There was Eddie, banging his head back and forth to the beat. And Bill was stumbling over his feet, nearly falling until Ben tugged him back up. Stan’s shoulders were relaxed slightly—_thank you_, _alcohol_—and he had a huge smile against his features, glancing up at Mike every couple of bounces. They were a fucking _sight_, and Richie sort of felt like vomiting, but he was also _happy_.

X

Sometime after two a.m., the final party guests had trickled out. Somehow, they’d gotten everybody out of the barn and hopefully off the farm. It was hard to say in the darkness. Richie sort of wanted a glass of water, and also a pillow. And his Eddie Spaghetti. His mind was both still whirling and coming down from the drunken euphoria.

They’d turned the music down at some point, so it was surprising when tinny music filled the barn, the static of the old school song apparent through the speakers. Richie spun around—and instantly regretted it when he struggled to keep his balance—looking to find the culprit. Mike stood smiling beside the stereo system, a broad smile lighting up his face.

“_Eddie my love, I love you so,”_ the melodic voices of The Chordettes filled the barn, and Richie swallowed past the lump in his throat. Eddie stood not too far away, though the distance suddenly felt like too much.

“Eds!” Richie called over the small distance. Eddie’s face held confusion, though it was quickly replaced with happiness. His smile lit up the rest of his features—his golden, brown eyes sparkling, his smile lines prominent, his head tilting to the side as it always did when he was overjoyed. Richie felt suddenly magnetized towards the other, his heart aching to be just that much closer. Which, Richie knew he was a sap but sometimes he surprised even himself.

Richie began walking towards his boyfriend, just as Eddie began doing the same.

“_Eddie my love, I love you so, how I’ve waited for you you’ll never know,”_

“Hey, it’s our song,” Richie suddenly wished he wasn’t so fucking drunk. “You wanna dance?”

“What’s the worst thing that could happen,” Eddie’s smile grew, and he grasped Richie’s hands in his own. They fumbled for a moment, trying to find the right way to hold onto one another to dance. Richie could barely make out the sound of someone snickering to the side—one of the other Losers—though he paid them no mind. He was getting another dance with his gorgeous boyfriend; nothing else really mattered.

“This whole thing is so cheesy I kind of feel like vomiting,” Richie murmured as they danced with one another, the song crooning on.

“That’s because you drank too much. Don’t fucking ruin this, Rich,” Eddie begged, his eyes growing bigger. “This was all I wanted all night long. Watching everyone just getting to openly dance, was actually the worst. And the bathroom dance was great, but it’s kind of fun to pretend that we’re out in the open this time. So shut up and dance with me.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Richie leaned down to place a peck against the top of Eddie’s head. “Your wish is my command.”

“Pirate first mate and a genie in one sentence,” Eddie smiled. “Impressive.”

“It’s a gift,”

Neither spoke again, as the chorus faded into the second verse. While the song wasn’t a great portrayal of their love story, it didn’t seem to matter when The Chordettes crooned _Eddie my love_ while Richie clumsily danced in a circle with his Eddie.

The emotions of the night compounded with the fact that Richie was sort of an emotional drunk to create the sense of great love and admiration currently filling Richie’s chest.

Richie knew he wouldn’t remember much of the night in the morning—his drunken state will have erased so much of what happened. But the look of adoration and enchantment that took over Eddie’s face as they danced was unforgettable. The press of Eddie’s hands in his own and the slide of their bodies together was warm. The feel of singing along—the words forming in his throat, bubbling up and onto the dance floor between them—would carry with him anytime he heard the song again.

“_I love you so_,” Richie murmured under his breath, though Eddie turned his alluring eyes up to meet Richie’s own. Richie was sure his heart skipped a beat.

“You fucking sap,” Eddie whispered back, his voice slurred from drunkenness.

“You love me,” Richie slurred, smile growing across his face. “_Eddie, my love_,”

“I like being your love,” Eddie smiled.

“Who’s the fucking sap now?” Richie teased, leaning down to press a kiss atop Eddie’s freckled nose.

And so it went; Richie and Eddie stood dancing slowly and stupidly in the middle of the Hanlon family barn on a warm April night. It was imperfectly perfect, just as Richie had known it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! Thank you so much for reading this little story. I have enjoyed it so much and am sad to be done. Please leave a review! They water my crops and clear my skin.
> 
> Also, please do not be too upset but I’ll Make Love To You came out in July of 1994, meaning they couldn’t have possibly listened to it at this prom. I did not figure this little detail out until the scene was written. And I thought about changing it but decided this is all fiction anyway so hopefully it doesn’t matter too much!
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr @mikewheeler-lesbian
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for reading. This was such a fun story to write. I’ll see y’all next weekend with another update to the ‘waited just to love you’ series.

**Author's Note:**

> Expect chapter two no later than next Friday!!  
Also please let me know if you liked it. Reviews give me life.  
Also, come yell at me on tumblr @mikewheeler-lesbian
> 
> Richie’s prom playlist for Eddie –  
P – Patience - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=euJle_HUkDE  
R – Romeos Tune - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ixTXmKauL8A  
O – One Year of Love - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cgib8QoBKHE  
M – More Than Words - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0R-FGchhwLw  
E – Eddie My Love - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YNetYyseJGU  
D – Don’t You (Forget About Me) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jlHz0wF0Ig  
S – Sweet Child O’ Mine - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Du63mrkbWY


End file.
